


the world may call it a second chance but when i came back it was more of a relapse

by hoshi_ni_natte



Series: there is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends [1]
Category: Gintama
Genre: Gen, Manga Spoilers, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27102109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoshi_ni_natte/pseuds/hoshi_ni_natte
Summary: Even if he couldn’t gather his bearings and remember that they’re on a ship bound for anywhere far past outer space, Gintoki would still know for a fact that it’s not gravity that brings him to his knees.
Relationships: Katsura Kotarou & Sakamoto Tatsuma & Sakata Gintoki & Takasugi Shinsuke
Series: there is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070330
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	the world may call it a second chance but when i came back it was more of a relapse

**Author's Note:**

> rejected title: post-canon takasugi arc <3 or something. ive finally crossed the threshold of using a panic! at the disco lyric as a title 
> 
> god WHY am i writing a multichap gen fic. (it's for myself! for myself.) i feel like im going insane. by the way i love joy4 ot4 but this ones completely platonic just because. anyway major spoilers for the manga if you havent read the rest after where the anime stopped. sorry also that the tone of this is all over the place i dont take myself seriously at all teehee.

That the Terminal is still in tatters from (ex-)doomsday—and has thus called for a temporary Altana-conserving inter-planetary travel ban via warp portals that then obligates space-crafts to receive clearance to prove that they’re properly equipped to perform manual lift-offs instead— proved to be a non-issue for the Kaientai. On top of its comprising ships being of technologically advanced alien origin built for the express purpose of smuggling and trafficking, the fleet’s current company have long since ensured the minimizing of any and every roadblock that may hinder them from making good on as many better business opportunities as possible, and that’s meant modifications and maintenance on the mechanisms that, among other things, bypass the variety of atmospheric structures and fossil energies that they encounter depending on where freight is coming from and going.

_All that_ to say, Earth remains one of the easiest planets to travel to and from. As long as it’s in wide enough a clearing or body of water and _not_ in the crowded capital where the ship’s mass would inevitably add to the concrete collateral of saving the world that has become of Edo, the Kaientai are at liberty to dock and launch away with very minimal trouble.

It’s worth mentioning that business is booming, by the way. After their slump and through a bunch of smart dealings, the Kaientai has established itself as one of the forefront channels of trade between earth and its fellow planets yet to fully recover from the devastation brought by the Altana gate-tampering. And between earthlings and Amanto who mutually share the sentiment of desire to get back their normal-as-can-be lives, _even_ at the cost of lowering heads and taking advantage of each other’s resources to repair ley-lines and whichever else since no one’s too eager to instigate another war of galactic scale too soon, there’s plenty of pretty profit to be made.

Sometimes, though, they pick up more than goods to transport. And _most times,_ it’s because their dearly cursed captain has decided, hilariously, that it’s never just all about the cold hard cash; it’s also about giving and taking, those which money can’t buy even by the transitive property of emotional marginal returns. Technically, one _can_ buy a day trip around the solar system for a hefty sum or win a celestial tour from market lotteries for the price of their life’s luck, but joyrides on high-tech high-spec spaceships like the Kaientai’s purely for pleasure are still just that bit harder to come by, and it requires special permission and fondness from aforementioned dearly cursed captain.

Such special permission and fondness was graciously granted to one Sakata Gintoki, one brutal mid-summer day. The Kaientai were in the middle of shuffling out crates of foreign high-energy regulators and accelerators (all ethically produced) and hauling in sacks of essential minerals both native to Earth and manmade (all ethically obtained) when Sakamoto Tatsuma caught a glimpse of silver shining brightly in the sunlight, drawing his attention away from the inventory. Amidst the haze of heatwaves in the streets on the outskirts of Edo were waves of blue on white; swimming in them was the man of the hour, wandering so aimlessly that he was indifferent to the whole-ass spaceship parked (half-legally) in the adjacent rice field.

He’d dismissed it as a hallucination, a symptom of an oncoming heatstroke which was leaving him only mildly regretful of being too cheap to buy bottled water before heading out and after scarfing down three giant servings of parfaits, against his doctor’s advice for his hypertension. That’s a character detail no one remembers or even cares about at this point, you say? That may be so; even Gintoki had totally forgotten about it and mistook the spike in his blood pressure for insanity, and who better to represent that in his consciousness than his dearly cursed chum _Tatsuma,_ the unfairly tall figure of him sprinting towards him and flailing his arms around like mad as he yelled to call him by _not-_ name, _“If it ain’t Kintoki!!”_

Gintoki had snapped back to his senses then. In Gintoki’s fantasies at least, to curb the god-awful fondness and annoyance he harbors for the loud-mouth’s counterpart in the real world, Sakamoto would address him by his actual given name, have an ounce or two of precious, priceless tact. Only the real Sakamoto would jump at him, hollering bastardized versions of his name all the while, oblivious to the disgusting summer heat as he clumsily wrapped his arms around his sweaty, sweets-drunk body.

It was simple, really, as all things tend to be with the simple-minded Sakamoto; he was musing about what a coincidence it was to find Gintoki loitering around roads towards more rural towns while he was hopping around the country marketing and merchandising and whatnot before leaving again and doing some of his own loitering in space, when high on sugar and the way Sakamoto always knows what to say and _not_ just because he’s practiced of the art of sales-talk or lip-service, Gintoki made the grandest, most stupid suggestion:

 _“Won’t you take me with you?”_ Though thoroughly taken aback, quite frankly, there was absolutely no way Sakamoto would _ever_ say no to that, no way he would ever say no to _Gintoki._ He didn’t even have to give it thought, so he threw all thought into the turbulent wind summoned by the ship engines whirring to life and loaded Gintoki in along with the Kaientai’s cargo, stalling only to grab the hem of the sleeve of Gintoki’s kimono and wipe his face and neck off for him as he cheerfully guaranteed their escape from the orbit around the merciless sun in no time.

That brings us all to the current setting: Gintoki is standing alone in a room at the top of the flagship’s bridge(yup, that sorta castle-looking thing in the center of each boat, built upon Sakamoto’s vision of anyone and everyone learning at a glance that the merchants at the forefront of business in the entire universe hail from the country of samurai), gazing out the ship and simpering dryly, unwistfully to himself at the absurdity of a Japanese-style window framing his view of the sun beyond the Earth as it shrinks into a twinkle right before his eyes.

“What’d I tell you?” comes a voice that ever so effectively delivers Gintoki from both reverie and misery. Sakamoto is treading in with a nonchalance that lays no claim to how earlier he’d barely managed to escape the room and Divine Punishment by Gintoki’s wrath before his lunch escaped his stomach and doused both of them with it. He’s wiping off the last evidence of his guts’ incompatibility with vehicular motion on the inside of his scarf and nodding at Gintoki, forcing down the recurrence of his sickness for the time-being for fear of being rendered unable enjoy this moment with Gintoki altogether. “Don’t you feel lighter already?”

Gintoki is only half-convinced that the puke fest is over, but Sakamoto keeps his distance from him and the window alike so it’s not like he has to be exceedingly cautious at this point. Gintoki relaxes and hums flatly, notes that they’ve covered more distance than it looks and that they’re moving faster than it feels, and turns Sakamoto’s words over in his head. _Does_ he feel lighter? Gintoki has only ventured off-world on a few occasions, during most of which he couldn’t exactly afford to leisurely pay attention to the workings of weightlessness against the artificial force and pressure in a space vessel, but he can imagine well enough. “Err, zero gravity and stuff, right?”

“Zero gravity…?” Sakamoto tilts his head at him, his expression one of hesitation for a fraction of a second before he lets out a chuckle that to Gintoki seems to reverberate differently in this chamber than it would anywhere on Earth. _“No,_ silly!” Sakamoto steps forward to put a hand on Gintoki’s shoulder, patting twice. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout your _worries,_ have they flown away?”

Gintoki’s eyes widen in disbelief of the implications that come with Sakamoto’s simplification, but what catches him off guard more is the off-guard look on Sakamoto’s face. Then Sakamoto is smiling sheepishly, using his free hand to scratch the back of his head through the fluff of his hair, the way he does when he irresponsibly jokes around only to find out that what he’d ended up poking and prodding at is no laughing matter. It’s like he’d slipped up having said what he did, like he had no intention of actually bringing up Gintoki’s anxiety lest he was just misreading, but Gintoki’s reaction just gave him away.

Sakamoto tries again, a touch more carefully, uncharacteristically, “Isn’t that why you got me to take you?” He steps back, withdrawing his hands from his hair and from Gintoki to wave them in the space between them as if to air out the sudden tension. “It’s not a bad thing or anything! I mean, I’m the one who keeps writing to you about how space-travel does the trick if you’re stressed and shit, so you oughta take this time to chill, like you’ve _never_ friggin’ chilled before!”

Something akin to guilt stirs in Gintoki’s chest, because it sure does take skill to fluster someone like Sakamoto into sputtering if it isn’t dizziness-induced, even though many would agree that the awkwardness that would follow is a small price to pay for some godforsaken quiet around him. Personally, however, Gintoki could do without the awkwardness, because he’s already in space for crying out loud and Sakamoto being candidly considerate of him doesn’t bother him anywhere near as much as whatever’s compelled him to finally, if only fleetingly, flee _Earth_ of his own free will.

See, it isn’t like Gintoki didn’t have cynical, nihilistic inclinations, but conceding to that side of him would have always been too… _much_ , and it wouldn’t be fair to all this life has given him in exchange for all it’s taken. It’s just that, Gintoki will admit, it’s the worst on rainy days, when he’s by himself and the sky appears to be weeping, lamenting those lost and irretrievable while beckoning him to do the same. But summer’s granted him clear skies and with it some semblance of peace of mind, blessed him with days lazing around treating himself to cold desserts and the company of the people close to him.

Even his three tasty parfaits couldn’t compare in coldness to the harsh, _biting_ realization, and the harsh, biting _reality,_ that for all he claims with conviction and believes in his heart of hearts about keeping companions and comrades alive in his soul, there are still these sunny days when he feels utterly hollow, and not even coming home to Shinpachi, Kagura, and Sadaharu could fix it. Sometimes when he’s with them he’s overwhelmed with affection that can come only with acting like whole idiots together, and then it threatens to overflow and spill out of him in pleas and promises that if he could stay with them like this, _just like this,_ he’ll never bother with or care for anything else ever again.

_Then_ they’d be unfulfilled, those pleas and promises, because even if he’s sworn off convincing himself that he doesn’t deserve to pass his days in Edo in peace, every scar on every part and extension of him still hurts as horribly as it did when it was fresh and bleeding, raw to the torment of torrents of tears. And he couldn’t soil them like that— not his family, not his home. To begin with _and_ in the end, he couldn’t even ask for more.

Yet he aches in sheer longing regardless, constantly hidden away but ultimately present in the deepest, darkest corners of his being where it’s freezing, unfazeable by the warmth and light of the life he leads now. And it gets so unbearably suffocating, living in contentment as if he doesn’t secretly fantasize about losing himself to the void then coming back with things he thinks he’s come to terms with losing to inevitability or tossing out of necessity, all to live with and love then lose all over again.

Despite Gintoki’s default laughy lightheartedness, he does possess some self-awareness, meager but just enough to recognize when he’s being straight-up pathetic; no one could ever hate that about him more than himself. But, for better or for worse, Gintoki never could run away from himself. Like a fully-fledged fool, he wouldn’t for the life of him stoop down to day-drinking to drown his sorrows away, but apparently enough dessert to make him sick to his stomach was extremely reasonable—besides it’d be more filling for less damage to the yorozuya’s bank book— until either it exits his system through the back end to be flushed down the toilet along with his self-deprecation or the void manifests for him to dive into, whichever came first.

The void just so happened to come first. Okay, well, maybe not the _void_ exactly, but it’s the next best thing, and there’s no hurtling into it without a warp portal. Gintoki certainly couldn’t complain, and he’d decided that he’d have to make-do with a manual lift-off instead. What’s the next best thing to the void, you wonder? Why, here we’re speaking of _space:_ vast and infinite and frighteningly capable of glaring back if one stares into it for too long. The fear and fascination it instills should be enough to quell Gintoki’s profound restlessness for the time-being. Besides, hitchhiking with Sakamoto would make a dent in his funds no deeper than the one made by his three parfaits.

_Gintoki_ happened to be at the right place at the right time. Though, when he invited himself aboard, Sakamoto could guess that he wasn’t signing himself up for a nice vacation, wasn’t doing it with the luxury of a star cruise in mind. Sakamoto could boast about literally _all_ the galaxy has to offer, and Gintoki would simply find an excuse or two to deprive himself of the immaculate romance there is in soul-searching in the midst of the very universe that birthed all that you are and all that you love from supernovas and stardust. _No,_ when Sakamoto found him, he didn’t look like someone waiting to be swayed by a dreamy affair, he just… looked desperate to get away. And ever since they met and even though they always did see differently, there’s always been very little Sakamoto wouldn’t do or give to be the one that whisks them off that wretched world with winless wars, if they would just _let_ him.

While Gintoki isn’t here for any earth-shattering reason, Sakamoto’s quickly grasped that he isn’t here to go star-fishing with him, either. He’s as far from partying as can be, if anything, Gintoki is in pining and in pain. And all the same, as he has been all this time, Sakamoto is determined to be there for his friends if it’s the last thing he ever does. Which is why it’s easy for him to sacrifice one of the few traits that sets him apart from this series’ colorful cast of characters or ranks him relatively high up in popularity polls for the impression his ostentatiousness leaves: he’ll quit laughing like an airhead. For now, at least.

Sakamoto resolves to not raising the topic or cause of Gintoki’s worries again, half out of empathetic acceptance and half out of helpless resignation; there’s no point in forcing it out of him either way. That’s for Gintoki to open up to and manage with whomever he chooses whenever he finally becomes ready to confess that he just _hasn’t_ been alright… Right? The least Sakamoto can do for him, second only to allowing him to drift farther than trains or planes can take him, is to keep him occupied, and maybe show him how, while storms take place on other planets, there aren’t rainy days out in outer space.

He can start by showing him around the ship. “Oh, I know! Wanna go to the control room downstairs?” Sakamoto offers casually, catching the seat of a fist in his palm. “Everyone already knows who you are but since this wasn’t planned, the crew might be surprised to see you. You should go say hi.”

Gintoki nods wordlessly, unconsciously following Sakamoto when he spins on a heel and makes his way down the stairwell. Everyone _was_ busy running around and packing up, so technically, though unintentionally, Sakamoto _did_ sneak Gintoki onto the ship, brought him up to the place with the best vantage point without anyone’s knowledge in his initial attempt to soothe him out of second-guessing his whims. He isn’t sure how long he’s sticking around for, but pleasantries are in order and it wouldn’t hassle Gintoki too much.

The background around them shifts from the additional traditional Japanese architecture of the bridge extension to the typical futuristic construction more usually attributed to space-crafts, plain alloy-lined walls and bare-save-for-buttons halls, throughout which the clack of the wood of Sakamoto’s sandals echo and off which his voice bounces when he makes small-talk to fill in the slow, stale air. “Some people would call me a bad captain for it, but almost everyone on my crew knows how to fly this thing. I almost never have to do shit myself when it’s time for departure.”

“And that’s not just you being lazy?” Gintoki shoots back, more out of impulse than anything, lifting his boot and stretching his leg to kick at the small of Sakamoto’s back. The response is instant and Gintoki relishes it some, Sakamoto pouting at him for effect over his shoulder while he brings his hands behind him to rub exaggeratedly, lower than where Gintoki hit him.

“You wound me,” Sakamoto groans pitifully before facing forward again as doors ahead them slide open automatically. As he proceeds to lead the way, he carries on: “It’s practicality, _practicality!_ The rest of the ships are from the same make so it’s convenient when we shuffle stations. Besides, there’s a lot they can do without me around, that capable lot. _Ahh,_ ” Sakamoto whines and picks his hands back up, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, “I’m so proud of them.”

“Don’t touch your face when you just scratched your ass,” Gintoki scoffs, like he’s one to talk, and reaches out to smack Sakamoto’s hands down. “And stop babbling like a geezer showing off his kids,” he scolds, _again_ like he’s one to talk. He steps up to right behind Sakamoto before settling for matching his pace through the rest of the corridor. “So basically, they can leave you for dead if they wanna?”

“If they need ta~” Sakamoto corrects, his airy intonation mismatching the solemnity of his statement as they arrive to the last doors and wait for them to open and let them in. “It’s all good. We’re always just messing around with each other anyway.”

No sooner have they entered the control room than said messing around with each other ensues: Sakamoto’s trusty co-captain and right-hand woman welcomes him with her straw hat to his face and that razor-sharp yet steel-cold tone and gaze aimed right at him: “Oh, and here we thought we finally got rid of you.”

Sakamoto’s used to this, unfortunately, and he dodges both affects with skill. Still, he can afford to take insult because the rest of the crew monitoring the navigation board ignores him completely. “What, did you really _not_ check if I was on board before departing?? Is this your guys’s rebellious phase?” Sakamoto embraces himself and positively _wiggles_ in his own arms. “I’m so happy I could throw up!!”

_“Don’t,”_ Gintoki warns, eyes offended by Sakamoto’s dance and vein in his temple throbbing in time with the bump on his forehead where the unexpectedly heavy hat had hit him. He was joined in chorus by Mutsu, who, after making a displeased face at Sakamoto, glances at him, unamused at the sight of him or that their captain had picked him up at all without consulting the rest of them. Not that there’s any need for him to. Sakamoto’s tendencies to invest independently aside, Mutsu and Gintoki _have_ poured each other drinks before; he isn’t unwelcome.

Nevertheless, she levels Gintoki with a curious albeit troubled though fundamentally understanding look, crossing her arms as she steps aside to let Sakamoto take her place supervising the oncoming maneuver through the asteroid belt. Sakamoto doesn’t look the part, but he _can_ comprehend the algorithms and trajectories presented on the screen and trace their best course better than he can steer one of those classic helms with the spokes; any of those that can be found on any of the Kaientai ships is, just like the castles, just for show. It’s Mutsu who doesn’t have to make a show of worrying about leaving the wheel to Sakamoto.

Though, it doesn’t change that the Kaientai would look to Mutsu sooner than to Sakamoto for pressing matters, as they do now when, upon clearing the asteroids with expert boating, a window pops up in the middle of the screen to announce an incoming interference. _“Mutsu-san,”_ one of them starts with a dutiful hand up to request for her guidance, “we’re receiving a signal from an unknown frequency and it’s trying to connect a line with us, what should we do?”

Mutsu promptly disregards Sakamoto pointing at himself and indignantly mumbling about how their captain is right here though?? to sidle up to their crew’s side and issue an order: “Run a brief scan and check for any signs of hostility…” She takes it upon herself to observe the results they muster thereafter, but she eventually just lets up and leans back. The last thing they need is for their ship and crew to get hijacked again, but their engineers have also improved their system’s defenses and there aren’t abnormalities to be reported, so she shrugs and deadpans, “Seems it’s just a video call. Let’s answer it and if it’s nothing, let’s hang up and blame Sakamoto.”

Sakamoto’s about to voice another protest in defense of his flimsy dignity when the receiver opens and a voice crackling with static and rage cuts in, filling the room and everyone’s ears: _“Sakamoto-senpai, you bastaaaard!!!!!”_ The image feed stabilizes after a few seconds to reveal a revolver pointed straight at whatever camera the other party is using, the barrel blocking her visage almost wholly. Though, the irritated trill in her voice makes her easy to recognize, as does the utter uselessness and sheer senselessness of making this kind of threat through _video call—_ on the other side of the line is none other than Kijima Matako of the Kiheitai.

Mutsu motions for the crew not to drop the call in spite of the disturbance and approves access to the camera on their end, swiftly grabbing the back of Sakamoto’s collar and swinging the guy to the front with ease to confront their caller and her immediate onslaught of profanities:

“You’re the wooooorst!!” she booms, “You’re just like Takechi-senpai—no, you’re even _worse_ than Takechi-hentaaaai!!!” She doesn’t stop to catch her breath or to allow the bland-faced Takechi Henpeita poised behind her to get a word in about his skewed lolicon-feminist ideals and make everyone lose their minds rationalizing what the point of a character like him _even_ is, even if she’s still in hysterics, “I never would’ve thought anyone could stoop lower than that pervert, but you—!” She’s striking the lens of the camera with the grip of her gun now as if she can’t contain herself, “That’s friggin’ kidnapping, you hear me??! You hear meeee????!!!”

If Gintoki’s ears weren’t ringing he’d ask Sakamoto what she was talking about—Sakamoto, the man who’d saved a ship of slaves from space pirates and salvaged their humanity and then some, involved in _kidnapping?_ It has to be some sort of mistake _—_ and why they’re even in direct contact. More than being in contact at all _,_ what kind of messed up relationship would a righteous _-ish_ businessman like Sakamoto have with former(??) terrorists that warrants his being called _senpai?_ As if Gintoki’s forehead weren’t already bruised, he’s feels a headache coming on, too.

And as if on cue—aha, who are we kidding, we mean _perfectly_ on cue, to gladly transform Gintoki’s headache into a full-blown migraine, another character enters the scene. Strolling past the automatic doors with impeccable grace despite wearing a lame pair of fluffy slippers and an even lamer set of matching sweatpants and a sweatshirt, then, to top it all off and to complete the _oh-so-at-home_ peg, his long, silky black hair tied up into a neat-messy bun, Katsura Kotarou interjects after clearing his throat with a clear _ehem_ : “Kidnap someone? _That Sakamoto_ did?”

Ever the voice of reason, Sakamoto and Gintoki esteem Katsura as such as he comes within view and presence of everyone, the former relieved to have a friend who can vouch for his innocence and the latter hoping for something, _anything_ to help him make sense of this situation. However, without even an ounce of effort, Katsura fails them both:

“Sakamoto, _you’re the lowest.”_ He’s declared this in all seriousness, and Sakamoto’s jaw hits the floor with comic book-style waterfalls from his eyes as he hugs Katsura and wails about betrayal. Moved neither physically nor by heart, Katsura crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes to emphasize his disappointment, while Matako spots him and pauses her barrage against Sakamoto to greet him, agree with him:

“Say it straight, _Katsura-senpai!!”_ That Katsura waves in acknowledgment makes Gintoki picture tearing his hair out, because he is just so _confused._ She calls him _senpai_ now, too? Have the Joui rebels and the Kiheitai finally caved and officially joined forces? What need is there for either with the current national landscape? Uh, we won’t go there because the politics of it is long-winded and too troublesome to address here and we aren’t even on Earth right now, but treaties and all that non-shogunate government jazz are already in place. That much has been reconciled.

Sure, if it’s in terms of starters, Gintoki _can_ think off the top of his head of a few instances when everyone could have made these convoluted connections, but those weren’t written to be _that_ close or to last for longer than a few chapters, maybe a couple of episodes, if the gorilla author was feeling generous enough to make up for teasing fans of the Generation of Miracles (lol) specifically with fake movie trailers and deliberate parodies in place of fleshed out flashback arcs by letting them Brag about their New Friends™ instead.

Speaking of New Friends™, _Elizabeth_ has waltzed in after Katsura and is faithfully backing him up with a signboard that echoes ‘Sakamoto’s the lowest’ in bold, black ink. Gintoki swears nothing can shock him anymore, because _of course_ Elizabeth is here, though he does have to put actual energy into pondering if the lady were talking about Tatsuma abducting Zura, and if this can even count as a kidnapping then, since no matter how anyone cut it, Zura’s an _adult,_ and those two are _buddies,_ you know?

Plus, “He came willingly, I’m telling you!” Sakamoto is arguing frantically, because consent and compliance is everything. Except he doesn’t have proof and he definitely just makes it worse by pushing it _,_ “Do I really look _that_ untrustworthy to all of you??!” Instead of doing anything for his plummeting trust-rating, it elicits the loudest silence Sakamoto’s ever heard, one combined among Matako opposite him, Mutsu and the crew around him, Katsura beside him after he shook him off—even Elizabeth is quipping in with giant ellipses.

Gintoki’s instinct is to play along and join in on bullying Sakamoto, but he thinks better of it because bullying Sakamoto can wait till he at least knows what there is to bully Sakamoto for this time. He elects to interrupt instead, demand once and for fucking all because they’ve done fuck-all to explain a single thing about this entire ordeal to him when he didn’t book it out of Edo just to be chased by this chaos: _“What on Earth is going on?”_

The silence, comical just a short while ago, becomes uncomfortable, shifts the mood instantaneously, because Sakamoto straightens up, instantly forgetting and forgiving everyone’s fake treachery towards him to stand to attention to Gintoki and face him properly. Sakamoto pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose to cover the unease in his eyes and sucks the inside of his cheeks to chew on, as if to buy himself time because he actually does have some grave explaining to do but can’t find the words, and it’s making Gintoki and everyone _so_ damn nervous.

Except Katsura. Unaffected by everyone’s nerves, he chimes in out of nowhere: _“…Off_ Earth.” It takes Gintoki a second of watching him wag his index finger at him to realize he was _correcting him,_ of all things, and Gintoki debates whether he could get charged by laws on Earth for a crime committed in space if he went ahead and grabbed Elizabeth’s placard and bashed it into Katsura’s skull for choosing the worst time to counterproductively sweat the small stuff. But the superficial nitty-gritty of it aside, even Katsura’s done playing around, genuinely curious when he reiterates the now-amended question: “What off Earth is going on, Sakamoto?”

Sakamoto softens at that, Katsura’s witty/witless remark strangely reassuring. He’s scratching the back of his head again, smiling that sheepish smile, carefully expressing, “To be honest, I was planning on thinking long and hard about how I should say this… To the crew, and to the Kiheitai… And especially you guys, Zura, Kintoki…” He swallows before sighing, thankful he sounds sincere enough not to evoke the last two’s routine retorts regarding the nicknames. “Truth is, it ended up like this before I knew it… It was a scary coincidence…! I was freaked out for real when I realized all three of you would be here with me.”

Katsura raises an eyebrow at him, repeating incredulously: “The three of us?” He looks to either side of him. “Gintoki, me, and Elizabeth?” he clarifies, a lump forming in his throat when Sakamoto shakes his head at him as soon as he finished saying Elizabeth’s name. He looks to Gintoki out of concern, but he’s frozen in place even as Sakamoto continues:

“I didn’t fight with Elizabeth as an important comrade in the Joui war…” Sakamoto mumbles, before scrambling to bow his head at Elizabeth. “No offense.” It earns him the light shuffling of their signboard, and it so reads a wholehearted _‘None taken.’_ Then Sakamoto’s left to bask in Katsura’s and Gintoki’s uncomprehending though unyielding glares, and though this isn’t about him, he’s tempted to profess the misplaced elation he feels at the prospect of fulfilling that which he swore to himself, cross his heart and hope to die, not long after he met them— the prospect of doing _right_ by them, “With you three, I always wanted to—”

He’s cut off by the metallic ring of the doors to the control room sliding open once more, accompanying it a gripe: _“—Oi, did you wash my kimono like you said you would? These sweats are tacky... In the first place, don’t vomit on people, Tatsuma, or Divine Punishment’s gonna get you…”_

The reaction is _visceral._ Gintoki’s blood is running cold at the sound, a hyper-specific inflection that he hasn’t heard in over two decades but knows by heart from some of the only memories from his childhood that he holds dear. His stomach is lurching and all the breath in his lungs is leaving, but no amount of forcing himself to stay rational is going to keep the hope he’d abandoned long ago from rising to the surface, when he turns and everything falls away from his focus, save for a pair of bright, warm green eyes staring right at him, peering into the very depths of his soul.

Even if he couldn’t gather his bearings and remember that they’re on a ship bound for anywhere far past outer space, Gintoki would still know for a fact that it’s not gravity that brings him to his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> anything that isnt addressed in this comes in all the future chapters dont worry. like yes i pulled all of this out of my ass but theres are bases i just dont know when i'll write those. i have vague outlines but ive never written an actual multichap so we will see. everything subject to change because im me. dont worry about the inconsistencies i'll try my best to keep canon in mind even if it's painful but dont think too hard, it's just gintama. anyway thanks for checking it out! let me know what you think if you wanna hehe. see you next chapter~


End file.
